Electric Blue Champagne
by AngelElevens
Summary: "Suddenly there is nothing but them, the muted sounds of a party in the Capitol, and a pair of silver shoes, clattering down the steps." For Lils as part of the Caesar's Palace New Year's exchange, here's to a lovely 2015.


**For the ever-so-lovely Lils - Have a lovely new year :D This is slightly AU, having Johanna win the sixty-ninth games instead of the seventy-first. Also, Victor Parties might not happen. We're pretending they do and that this happened at someone's Victor Party. **

"It's so unlike you, Jo, that's all I'm saying," Finnick says, sipping at his drink that tastes like cough syrup blended with alcohol. It's revolting, but at the time his attention is drawn to the only girl in the room not wearing a cocktail dress drowning in feathers and sequins. Her hair is a dark auburn and her eyes are green, like the sea.

"Oh, shut up, Fin, you know I love liquor, you know it," Johanna says, every word slurring into a whirl of syllables. "And you should too."

Finnick sloshes his drink. Eyes fall on him: he isn't wearing a bright-blue suit and his glass isn't empty: the bubbling blue liquid fills the cup to the rim. "Liquor is a lot nicer when it tastes proper. I find mint a huge improvement over that vile medicine my mother gave me during the virus season," he says, still gazing into the auburn-haired girl's eyes. She turns her head to meet his gaze and smiles softly, waving to him with a flirtatious gesture of the hand.

"Drink, drink, drink, drink, drink, drink," Johanna chants, a whisper at first but just a moment later the crowd joins in, a loud chorus of hundreds of people urging him to down a glass of liquor.

The crowd surrounds him and chants louder, hiding the mysterious girl from view. Tentatively, Finnick lifts the glass gently to his lips, the blue crystal meeting his lips. Johanna rolls her eyes and looks around for a moment. The chant persists around her, urging her to make him drink faster. She places two fingers against the bottom of the glass, smirking.

Finnick doesn't have a choice. The glass tilts and he parts his lips further, avoiding all attempts to make a fool of himself by spilling blue sparkling liquor all over his suit. His suit is a crisp navy blue, starkly contrasting the electric hue of the liquor.

Obliging to Johanna's intimation, Finnick downs the odious liquid, noticing that immediately the room begins to tilt. Everything shatters into pieces of blue glass, flowing into a toxic river of blue. His thoughts a whirlwind, he wonders for the second time that night why the color at the Victor Party is blue this year. It was orange, last year, mimicking the sky, forever a sunset orange, and the uniforms: Neon orange that glowed in the dark.

A moment later, everything comes back. He sees Johanna, and only Johanna, gazing into his eyes, crazed. In a flash, she presses her lips to his, taking the flask gently from his hand. It shatters on the ground, spilling the bubbles of blue champagne on the floor.

When Johanna pulls away, Finnick catches a glimpse of the mysterious girl's blue ballgown escaping into the crowd.

His publicity team swarms him, some holding cameras, others holding large signs with questions on them. _Are you in a relationship with Johanna Mason_? One of the cards asks. Finnick places a hand in front of the camera lens.

"Johanna's nice, but she's bitter, and sugar cubes are hardly bitter," he says, winking. Then he turns away, smoothing his suit. A moment later, he finds himself with another glass in his hand, electric blue with a matching lemon in it, pressing through the crowd.

He finds her on the steps to the President's mansion, her dark blue dress splayed out across the marble stairs. "Hi," he says, smiling softly.

"Hey. I'm Annie, victor of the Games two years ago," she says quietly, fiddling with her glass of blue lemonade. "And I know who you are. Finnick Odair, the youngest victor yet."

"I am indeed. You're beautiful," Finnick says, taking a seat next to her. "And you're sweet, too." He places an arm on her shoulder, pulling her closer to him.

"You kissed her," Annie says, turning away. "If you're with Jo, I really shouldn't . . ."

"Well, we might have a misunderstanding. Johanna is a psycho, but Jo's one of the less pissy victors. I think she's really a psychopath," Finnick whispers. "She was drunk enough to kiss me."

"She was the first one to hug me at my Victor Party. The theme was silver. My favorite color. It's, um, pretty. I guess. Jo was drunk, then, too," Annie says, toying with her dress.

"Jo's always drunk. Silver is a gorgeous color. My theme was tridents. You know, my signature weapon. All the forks were mini tridents. It was cute. Not like the Games," Finnick says, recalling his party.

"Looks like neither of us saw the 'electric' part in the Victor Party memo," Annie says, chuckling.

"Your dress looks like the sky," Finnick says, his mind wandering. The sky looks ordinary for a late night in the Capitol: a deep blue. His hand moving down Annie's arm, Finnick settles his hand on her waist. "Gorgeous midnight blue."

Annie leans into him, cocking her head. "How's your champagne, Finnick? My blue lemonade is absolutely lovely, though it's far prettier when it's yellow, I think."

"This is champagne?" Finnick exclaims, feigning surprise. "I could have sworn it was cough syrup with a lemon in it."

Annie chuckles, the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile. "It could be. I haven't tried it. I'm not much of a drinker."

"I didn't figure you would be." Their hands meet, hers cradled in his.

"Everyone turns to the bottle eventually. But you'd know that already. You know, you're less of a charm than the Capitol puts forward," Annie remarks, teasing him. She turns, her dark hair falling from one shoulder to the other.

"Oh, shush, Annie." He shoves her playfully, and her heel clicks against the marble step, glinting silver in the moonlight. "Annie Cresta, those shoes are not bright blue!" he teases, tapping her heel twice with the tip of his finger.

"Like I said, silver is my favorite color. They wanted me to wear blue heels. But if you're the only one who's going to see them, why not wear silver?" Annie says, a mischievous smile plastered on her face.

"Well, they're gorgeous, Annie," he says. She blushes, taking both of his hands in hers, her breaths the only sound other than the muted party notes that either of them can hear. She pulls one hand away from his and brings it to his hair, instead.

She ruffles his bronze hair, then takes both of her hands to his neck. Silence is still in the air.

They hover just inches apart from each other, inches away from embracing. "Do you want to kiss me?" she asks, her voice low.

"Maybe," he admits sheepishly.

She breathes heavily, for a moment, clutching him in her arms. "I love you," she whispers, her words soft and light.

"I. . .I love you too, Annie."

Then their lips connect, and suddenly there is nothing but them (Annie, clad in her midnight blue ballgown, and Finnick, with his snappy, electric blue suit), the muted sounds of a party in the Capitol, and a pair of silver shoes, clattering down the steps.

But the sound is lost under sweet nothings whispered in the night.


End file.
